204 The Grouse Family 



into the den, while the third was coming out of 

 an adjacent hole to render what probably would 

 have been powerful assistance. The skins were 

 in very fair condition and my comrade wanted them, 

 so I beat a retreat while he stripped off the pelts. 



"You keep down-wind!" I roared at him, "or 

 I'll massacre you with your own gun." 



He stuck to his prizes, which he stowed in the 

 rig, and all the way home and for days afterward 

 my nose seemed full of that awful stench. Need- 

 less to say, I refused to accept the gun, which, to 

 his credit be it said, he earnestly attempted to 

 force on me, for he was a man of his word, and 

 assuredly of strong convictions withal. 



And there was more a-coming, for a few days 

 later we were actors in a truly powerful drama of 

 frontier life. We were shooting over the same 

 ground and I fancy he purposely drove to the 

 same spot. Anyway, somewhere in the vicinity we 

 ran across an ancient Indian, what Kipling calls 

 "a silent, smoky savage," whom he knew. This 

 day we had what was left of a " grub-stake " for 

 two days, a couple of cans of lobster, one of sar- 

 dines, some crackers, oatmeal, and in the lantern 

 a few drops of kerosene. The Indian begged for 

 a small pot in which we had boiled porridge — he 

 had previously begged for whiskey, which he didn't 

 get, and for tobacco, of which a portion had been 

 granted, 



